The Ballad of Blaise and Ron
by Annamia
Summary: Harry, Draco, Blaise, and Ron all go off to spend the summer holidays at a hidden locations. Draco is determined to get Blaise and Ron together. Only one problem: Ron's in love with Harry. Oh dear... Established Harry/Draco. Ron/Harry onesided. Blaise/Ron
1. In which Blaise makes a foolish promise

_Hello, and welcome to my new story, which was inspired by __Immortal Sailor Cosmos__. This is (I hope) different from my other stories, in that I am doing my hardest NOT to make it angstish or anything like that. My oneshot _Stolen _Moments is sort of the prequel to this story. It tells you where Ron, at least, is coming from. This story, though is told entirely from Blaise's POV, and that's all I'm going to tell you. (Oh, and by the way? In case you were wondering, JK Rowling lives in England, not America. Clearly then, I am not her. Just in case you might have forgotten.)_

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1: In which Blaise makes a foolish promise

Blaise Zabini had problems. No only was his mother getting _another_ new husband: another millionaire who ignored his good sense and saw only her beauty, but his best friend Draco couldn't help being blissfully in love and he, Blaise, wasn't. Oh, it wasn't that there was a lack of choices: half the girls in the school would happily sell their souls to be his girlfriend, but none of them interested him. He'd briefly toyed with Pansy, but she was empty headed and dull, and he didn't like her much anyway. Besides, he was coming to realize that it wasn't girls he wanted anyway. It had taken him a very long time to admit it, but he finally opened his eyes and faced the truth: he, Blaise Zabini, only son of the dazzlingly gorgeous and fantastically rich Syd Zabini, was gay.

Draco had been remarkably unhelpful when Blaise had come to him. Or, rather, Draco had burst out into furious laughter and explained to Blaise that he'd known for years. It took all of Blaise's self-control to keep from cursing his friend on the spot. Instead, he contented himself with a dark scowl. "It's all right for _you_," he said. "_Your_ father doesn't care."

Draco only grinned. "Too true," he agreed, leaning back and surveying Blaise through amused gray eyes. "And will your mother?"

Blaise shrugged. "I have no idea," he informed Draco. "But I'm rather afraid to tell her."

Draco snorted. "Why? Are you afraid of her fearsome reputation?"

Blaise shrugged. "Maybe," he admitted.

Draco laughed. "It must be terrible," he said, his voice oozing mock sympathy. "I can't imagine what it must be like to be so afraid of your parents."

Blaise scowled. "Watch it," he warned.

Draco twirled his wand lazily. He raised a cultured eyebrow, then, more quickly than Blaise could follow, singed off his friend's eyebrows. "I think you should watch it," he drawled. "I appear to be faster than you."

Blaise's mouth twisted. "Touché," he said, regrowing his eyebrows. "So do you have anything useful to say?"

Draco smirked. "Has anyone caught your eye yet?"

"No," Blaise said, a touch too quickly, doing his best to banish the completely unwanted mental image of red hair and gangly limbs.

Draco, curse him, was quick, though, and his smirk turned to a full-blown grin. "Who is it?"

Blaise shook his head. "I can burn your eyebrows off too, you know," he warned.

"Can you?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow in bored disbelief. "Somehow, I doubt it."

Blaise scowled, knowing Draco was right. Blaise might be good, but Draco had always been better.

"So, which Prince Charming have you found to pin your heart on?" Draco asked again.

Blaise sighed, knowing there was no way around it. "Weasley," he admitted. "And if you tell Potter, I _will_ put frog spawn in your food and you _will_ eat it."

Draco stared at Blaise for a single, wide-eyed moment, then burst into gales of furious hilarity. Blaise watched him, arms crossed, his expression resigned. When Draco seemed to be calming down, Blaise inquired dryly, "Are you quite finished?"

Draco nodded, a smile still tugging at the corners of his lips.

Blaise sighed. "How much do I have to pay you to keep quiet?" he asked, already reaching for his wallet.

Draco shook his head. "Not money," he said, and Blaise's heart sank unpleasantly. When Draco turned down money, you knew it had do be bad.

"What do you want, then?"

Draco grinned, a wicked, scheming grin that made Blaise even more uncomfortable. "Not much," he assured his friend.

"What is it, Draco?" Blaise demanded, touching his wand with his free hand.

"Spend the summer with me."

Blaise blinked. "That's it?"

Draco nodded. Blaise's eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?" he demanded suspiciously. This was too simple for Draco. Surely there must be more to it than just spending time together. Images of being forced to clean the house or wait on Potter hand and foot flashed through Blaise's mind, and he sighed.

"No catch," Draco assured him, his eyes wide with transparent innocence. "Aren't I allowed to spend time with my friend?"

"You spend your summers with Potter somewhere where your parents can't find you," Blaise reminded him dryly. "If you're inviting me, then you have a plan. I'd rather just pay you cash."

Draco shook his head, grinning. "No. Spend the summer with me – _all_summer, mind you – or I tell Harry and he'll inform Weasley."

Blaise sighed, knowing he had no choice. "Fine," he snapped, putting his wallet back into his pocket.

Draco grinned. "You'll like this, I promise," he assured Blaise standing and stretching like a rather large feline. "It's for your own good." With one last smile, he left the common room, leaving Blaise supremely wary. He'd found that anything Draco did 'for his own good' ended badly, and he was not looking forward to this one. Still, all they were doing was spending the summer together. What was the worse that could happen?


	2. chapter title too long to post

_Author's note: nothing much to say. It's fairly self explanatory. All characters belong to JK Rowling, who is, unfortunately, not me._

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2: In which Blaise realizes precisely what Draco has planned

Two weeks later, on the train home from Hogwarts, Blaise realized the foolishness of his earlier assumption. Draco had done far worse than Blaise had ever imagined. No, he hadn't informed Blaise that he would be waiting on them, or that he would be a temporary House-Elf. No, what he had done was much worse: he had invited Weasley. Or, rather, he'd talked to Potter, who'd invited Weasley. From the look on Weasley's face, he wasn't any happier about the turn of events than Blaise himself.

"Draco, may I speak with you? Privately?" Blaise hissed, his hand clamping around Draco's skinnier one and maneuvering the slender boy out of the carriage before he could object. One they were in the corridor, Blaise pinned Draco against the wall and asked in a harsh whisper, "What in the name of Merlin _possessed_ you to invite him along?"

Draco looked at Blaise, a smug smile on his lips. "You want to get closer to him, yes?"

"Yes," Blaise admitted reluctantly.

"And you can't do it at school for fear of damaging your reputation, am I correct?"

"Yes," Blaise said again, grinding his teeth together in frustration.

"Well, you won't be at school. You'll be able to seduce him to your heart's content."

"He. Is. In. Love. With. _Potter_," Blaise ground out, his voice hard.

Draco blinked, for once genuinely surprised. "What?"

Blaise sighed. "You and Potter are so _oblivious_," he said bitterly. "Don't tell me you don't see Weasley making sad puppy eyes at Potter when his back is turned."

Draco's blank expression told Blaise that he truly hadn't seen it. "How do you know?" Draco demanded.

Blaise grimaced. "Before you asked Potter, didn't you watch him to see if he was interested?"

Understanding dawned in Draco's face. "So you considered it," he breathed.

Blaise nodded. "Why do you _think_ I never said anything? I know perfectly well he'll never have me, and I have no desire to make a fool out of myself."

Draco was nodding, an expression of sincere contriteness crossing his face. "I am _so_ sorry," he said earnestly. "Honestly, Blaise, if I'd known…"

Blaise nodded wearily. "I know," he said. "You were just trying to help me."

"Well, it's not like we can _un_invite him," Draco said practically. "Surely you can use this to at least become friends with him, right?"

Blaise sighed. He should have known Draco wouldn't give up this easily. An idea crossed his mind, and he gripped Draco's robes tightly, thrusting his face close enough to kiss the other boy. "One thing," he said menacingly. "If you even _think_ the words 'love potion,' I will personally transfigure your nimbus into a frog and_stomp_ on it. Don't try to tell me your father will buy you another one, and your dearly beloved doesn't approve of love potions."

Draco winced. "I'll be good," he said meekly. "Now, let go of me before someone thinks I'm cheating on Harry."

Blaise stepped back and Draco shook his robes back into order. "Tell me you'll at least _try_ to get to know Weasley."

Blaise nodded curtly. "I will," he said. "But that's as far as it goes. He loves Potter, and that's that."

Draco grinned. "He loves Potter for now," he said. "You never know. Your scintillating personality might win him over."

Blaise scowled. "Maybe. But it has to be _his_ decision, remember."

Draco nodded. "I won't interfere, I promise."

"Good. Now, if you have nothing else to say…?"

"Remember that it was _you_ who brought me out, not the other way around."

"Very true," Blaise agreed. "You're free. Go and be disgustingly romantic with your boyfriend."

Draco grinned and slipped away from Blaise. He paused and beckoned. "You to," he said. "You promised."

Blaise grimaced, but followed Draco into the carriage. Potter looked at Draco questioningly, and Draco grinned. Judging by the resigned expression on Potter's face, Blaise suspected that he was more than accustomed to Draco's grand plans. He shot Blaise a sympathetic look, which the handsome Slytherin ignored. He might have promised to get closer to Weasley, but that didn't mean he had to get all chummy with Potter.

Draco pulled out his wand and, with a wicked grin at Blaise, cast a silencing ward around Potter and himself. Blaise watched as they scooted closer to each other, clearly exchanging sickeningly romantic murmurs. When Potter began shoving his mouth onto Draco's, Blaise turned away, revolted. True love was all very well, but there was no reason to be so showy about it.

He was left with only Weasley to talk to, but he couldn't make his mouth open. The presence of the snogging couple across from them wasn't helping things either: whenever Blaise looked at Weasley, he pictured the two of them doing precisely what Draco and Potter were doing now. He sighed.

"So why are you here?" Weasley asked suddenly. Blaise got the feeling he was trying to distract himself from Potter and Draco. Blaise didn't blame him.

"Same reason you are, I expect," Blaise said, turning his mind firmly away from any and all mental images. "I was invited and I had nothing better to do."

Weasley nodded, clearly not knowing what else to say. His eyes turned back to Potter and Draco, who were completely oblivious to anyone else, as though drawn by some magnetic force too strong for him to control.

Blaise too was watching, but he was watching Weasley watch Potter. He could see the pain and longing in the other boy's eyes, and he sighed. What would it be like to have those beautiful brown eyes turned on_him_ like that? Then, he shook his head and pinched himself. Weasley was in love with Potter, and there was nothing Blaise could do to stop them.

"Makes one wish they would get a room, doesn't it?" he asked, almost against his will.

Weasley looked at him in surprise. "What?"

Blaise nodded towards the exhibitionist couple. "At least they had the decency to put up wards."

"True," Weasley answered slowly, his eyes turning back to watch Potter.

The train continued to chug towards London. Eventually, when it became clear Weasley wasn't going to be any kind of decent conversation partner, Blaise pulled out a book and began to read, not really internalizing the words. He kept sneaking covert glances at Weasley, and he didn't like what he saw. There was clearly no way he could compete with Potter for Weasley's affections, and he was most certainly not looking forward to spending an entire summer watching the boy he loved mooning over a boy he could never have. 'At least he isn't mooning after a girl,' Blaise thought gloomily, turning back to his book and doing his best not to think anymore. They continued speeding towards their destination, the only sounds the rustling as Blaise turned the pages of his book and the muffled moans that couldn't quite be concealed by the hastily cast wards. Weasley said nothing, his eyes fixed on Potter, his face an expression of open longing.


	3. In which Draco concocts another plan

_Author's note: I'm warning you in advance, Ron is a bit OOC. I don't really like him in cannon, and I don't think I could work with him. I don't think I've changed too much, I've just made him slightly more tolerant of Slytherins. In cannon, he takes it to extremes, and that obviously doesn't work for this story. Hope you like it anyway! (Nope, still not JK Rowling. Sorry.)_

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3: In which Draco concocts another plan

They apparated away from Platform 9¾, Blaise and Weasley riding side-along with Draco and Potter. Draco had told them all before that their summer home was in a hidden location that they wouldn't be able to find by themselves until they'd been brought by someone who knew where they were going. Blaise could only hope that Draco was right about that. He would really hate having to be dependant on Draco to come and go: he was sure his friend would think of some truly outrageous price for the privilege of leaving.

Clearly Weasley had the same idea, because he looked hard at Potter. "So now we can leave whenever we want to?"

Draco shrugged. "You _can_. I wouldn't, though."

Weasley turned to scowl at Draco. "I wasn't asking _you, _Malfoy."

Draco shrugged. "I had the answer."

Potter put a warning hand on Draco's arm. "Dray," he said. "You promised to behave."

"True," Draco agreed. "Very well. Weasley, you are perfectly capable of leaving, but I wouldn't."

"Why not?" Weasley demanded.

"Because our secrecy depends on how little we use magic," Draco said flatly. "And we would really rather not be found."

Blaise sighed. "So we can't use magic?"

Draco shrugged. "We can," he said. "But it's probably not a good idea. After all, do you want your mother discovering us?"

Blaise winced. "Point taken," he said dryly. "No magic."

Draco grinned. "Don't look so sad," he said. "You'll see, even without magic, it's a fine place to stay." He led them into the house, which was obviously bigger on the inside than on the outside. Or, rather, Blaise hoped it was bigger on the inside. If not… well, they were going to more than a little cramped.

Thankfully, it was indeed bigger on the inside. Draco showed them proudly around, though it was clear Potter had been here before. Blaise nodded his approval as he realized just how much bigger it really was. If there was one thing they wouldn't have to worry about, it was being cramped. And then Draco showed them the bedrooms, and Blaise's heart sank. He shot Draco a black look as he took in the two rooms.

"I apologize," Draco said, with practiced insincerity. "The house isn't designed for more than two people. Three, if two of them like each other."

'Likely story,' Blaise thought grimly as Draco nodded towards the lefthand door. He'd been in enough wizarding houses to know that Draco would have been quite capable of adding another bedroom. His cursed friend had done this on purpose. He glowered at Draco, who only grinned.

"It's for your own good," the blond boy mouthed, his eyes bright with mischievous glee, like those of a very small child who has drawn all over the walls and gotten away with it.

"You_will_ pay," Blaise mouthed back as he passed into the room. There was all of one bed. His scowl deepened. Weasley didn't look any happier.

"I'm sorry about this," Potter said, and he, at least, sounded like he meant it. "We didn't have enough time to get another bed."

Blaise only nodded, sorting through a list of ways to get back at Draco for this. One thing was certain: he wasn't going to let Draco get away with this unpunished.

"We'll leave you alone to unpack, shall we?" Draco asked, heroically restraining his manic grin.

"You do that," Blaise said darkly, not deigning to look at his so-called friend.

Potter and Draco left, closing the door behind them. Blaise was left alone with Weasley. Neither of them looked at the other, though Blaise would bet a lot of money that the tall Gryffindor's face was as red as his hair.

"How shall we work this?" Blaise asked at last, surveying the room as though he expected another bed to spring out of nowhere. None did, and he sighed.

"We don't appear to have a choice," Weasley commented grimly. "I guess we'll just have to deal."

"I suppose," Blaise said reluctantly. "Please remind me to murder Draco as soon as I possibly can."

Weasley blinked. "What?"

Blaise shook his head. "Never mind. Which side of the bed do you want?"

Weasley considered. "The window," he said.

Blaise nodded and lugged his trunk over to the opposite side of the bed. Without looking at Weasley, he sat down and flicked open the clasp. The trunk popped open, and he began to dig through it, searching for his travel potions kit. He grasped it at last, and a wicked grin spread across his face as he considered the ingredients carefully stored in the kit.

"What are you doing?" Weasley asked, as the silence grew longer.

"Considering which of these to put into Draco's dinner," Blaise answered. His hand hovered over a couple jars, but he eventually shook his head. "No good," he muttered. "He'll find those."

He stared down at his potions kit for a moment longer, then abruptly snapped it shut. There was nothing in there that would help him. With a sigh, he put it back into his trunk and dropped the lib back in place. He flopped back onto the bed, eyeing the ceiling moodily. What could he do that Draco wouldn't detect? An image of the two lovers snogging on the train came to his mind, and, slowly, a malicious grin spread across his face.

"What?" Weasley asked, looking suspiciously at Blaise. Blaise looked at the redheaded boy, and decided he could trust him.

"Promise you won't tell Potter?"

"I promise," Weasley said earnestly, his curiosity evident on his face.

Blaise eyed him for a moment, decided he was bring honest, and described his plan. When he'd finished, Weasley's eyes lit up.

"_That_ is a fantastic plan," he said eagerly.

Blaise nodded. "Of course it is."

"When will you do it?"

"Tonight," Blaise said. "So they won't notice until tomorrow morning."

Weasley grinned. Despite himself, Blaise smiled back, doing his best to ignore then warmth that spread through him at Weasley's approval.


	4. another chapter title too long to post

_Author's note: Wow, I'm writing these fast, aren't I? Well, my muse likes this story, so she's pushing me to write it. shrug What can I do? Anyway, at no point in this story will I pretend to be JK Rowling, which means that all the characters are hers. (The pairings are MINE, though. Well, mine and that of countless other fangirls, but _they're_ not writing this story, I am…)_

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4: In which Blaise discovers the perils of sharing a bed

Dinner was a quiet affair. Potter was still openly contrite about the whole bed fiasco, and Draco was doing his very best to appear just as apologetic. Blaise saw right through him, though he doubted Weasley did. Weasley hadn't spent nearly enough time with Draco to be able to tell when the blond boy was lying and when he wasn't.

The food was decent, though Blaise could tell that neither Draco nor Harry were comfortable in the kitchen. Not, of course, that he was one to talk. He hadn't even known where the food he ate _come_ from until he was nine, and then only because he'd accidentally stumbled into the kitchens while searching for his mother's husband of the time. Judging from what he knew of Draco, he suspected Draco had had a similar revelation at approximately the same age, so it was most likely Potter, the only one of them to live with muggles, who did the actual cooking.

Weasley was having trouble restraining his anticipation, and Blaise sighed. Unless he was more careful, the idiot would reveal them before Blaise had a chance to put his grand plan into action. Sure enough, Draco looked sharply at Weasley. "What's got _you_ all excited, Weasel? Surely it's not the opportunity to sleep with Blaise tonight."

Blaise aimed a kick at Draco and missed.

Weasley, clearly doing some _very_ quick thinking, shook his head. "It's more that there's no homework all summer and no Hermione to bug us about getting a head start for next year."

Draco looked at him suspiciously, but he couldn't see anything other than honesty on Weasley's face, and he turned to Blaise. "And you?" he asked. "Is it the lack of homework that has _your_ eyes sparkling?"

His eyes were sparkling? Blast! Blaise shook his head. "It's more that I won't have to watch you and your exhibitionist lover over there try to strangle each other in public any longer."

Draco blinked, and Potter frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaise leaned back, his face a mask of cynical amusement. "You two are the embodiment of the phrase, 'get a room'," he informed them. "I would have though _you_, at least Draco, had better manners than to show off in front of others. Though, all things considered, perhaps it's not so unlike you after all."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded, unconsciously echoing his partner.

"If you tell me you're a modest person, I shall be forced to disbelieve you," Blaise clarified lazily.

Potter snorted. Draco shot his lover a wounded look. "It crushes me that you think so little of me," he proclaimed, mock hurt seeping through his voice.

Potter merely grinned. Draco stood, exuding disdain and indignation. He looked even more like an offended feline than usual, and Blaise permitted himself a grin of anticipation. The next few days would be very interesting indeed. As Draco left the kitchen, Blaise pointed his wand at him under the table and muttered two words. Weasley, overhearing, grinned wildly. Potter didn't notice: he was too busy looking after Draco.

Blaise stood. "Not that this isn't pleasant," he said. "But I believe I shall retire." He nodded at Potter. "Until tomorrow." He left the kitchen and climbed up to the room he would be sharing with Weasley.

Weasley didn't join him for almost half an hour, during which time Blaise busied himself with storing his belongings in half of the enormous closet at his disposal. He'd just finished shoving the now empty trunk into the bottom of the wardrobe when Weasley came in. He barely glanced at Blaise, only got to work unpacking his own things. Blaise, doing his best to ignore the tingling feeling spreading through his body, grabbed a pair of pajamas and headed towards the bathroom. Draco and Potter might choose to sleep… clothing optional, but that didn't mean Blaise was about to follow their example. Not even when it was Weasley he was sharing a bed with. No, scratch that, e_specially_ not when it was Weasley he was sharing a bed with.

Weasley clearly had the same idea, because he too was fully clothed in hand-me-down sleepwear when Blaise returned from the bathroom. They didn't speak to each other, nor did they go out of their way to look at each other. Even so, Blaise couldn't help being acutely conscious of the other boy's presence. They got into the bed, each scooted as far as possible to the side, trying to leave as much space as humanly possible between them. To Blaise, it wasn't nearly enough. Still, he didn't have much of a choice, and he forced himself to relax, closing his eyes and visualizing anything but himself and Weasley. Unfortunately, the other boy's regular breathing, far too close for comfort, made that excruciatingly hard. Blaise finally gave up and allowed his imagination free reign. He drifted off into sleep eventually, his dreams colored red and populated by large brown eyes.

He woke suddenly, several hours later, feeling as though he were suffocating. He located the source of the feeling quickly enough: Weasley, unused to sharing a bed, had rolled almost completely on top of him. Blaise felt himself heat up and he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do _now_. If he tried to shove Weasley off him, he might wake the other boy, and that would be more than he was prepared to deal with at this hour. Speaking of time, what time _was_ it, anyway? He had no way of knowing.

Weasley stirred, rolling away slightly. Blaise breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief, feeling himself relax. Slightly. He was still highly conscious that Weasley was a hair's breadth away from him; his own body wasn't about to let him forget that. Weasley uttered a soft snore, and Blaise felt himself respond. That settled matters. There was absolutely no way he was going to expose himself to Weasley, and that was exactly what would happen if this continued any longer. Being as careful as he could, he maneuvered Weasley completely off him and slipped out of the bed. A quick look told him that he would not be able to secure covers for himself without waking Weasley. He sighed and looked longingly at his wand. If only he were just allowed to cast a warming spell. Maybe a cushioning charm too, he added, as he lay down on the hard floor.

He lay there, trying to convince himself that it was all for the best, for a very long time. When he finally dozed off again, instead of dreaming about red hair and brown eyes, he dreamed of rocks and cold caves. On the whole, he decided that was preferable.


	5. In which Draco gets what he deserves

_Author's note: credit must be given to Hayseed, from whose story _Dastardly Schemes and Drastic Measures_ I have stolen Blaise's cunning plan. You can find it at this page: __I suggest you take a look._

_Additionally, the very last line of the chapter is taken, of course, from that immortal classic _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, written by the now tragically deceased Douglas Adams._

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5: In which Draco gets what he deserves

Morning found Blaise still on the floor and Weasley still snoring. Blaise rose stiffly, amazed at how painful half a night of sleeping on the floor could be. He shivered slightly, and amended the thought: it was amazing how painful and _cold_ half a night of sleeping on the floor could be. He grabbed a pair of muggle jeans and a green sweater from the closet, promising himself that he would not repeat that experiment any more than necessary. Ban against magic be hanged: tonight, Blaise was putting up wards.

He dressed as quickly as was possible and headed downstairs, intending to make himself a very large cup of tea. No one else was up yet, and, when he looked at the clock on the kitchen wall, he realized that it was only six in the morning. He grimaced, but couldn't even imagine going back to the floor to try and sleep some more. He decided to make himself coffee instead: surely caffeine was as good as extra sleep, and coffee had the advantage of being hot.

It took him a while to figure out how to make the coffee pot work. He supposed that, since they were basically pretending to be muggles all summer, it was a good thing that the kitchen was stalked with muggle appliances, but there was no denying that it made it hard to work it. He finally found the correct button to press, and he sat down, watching in fascination as the water began to boil. He knew magic would have accomplished the same thing in half the time, but there was something hypnotizing in watching the muggle appliance do all the work for him. Only when pure water began to dribble into the pot did he realize he'd missed a crucial step: he hadn't put the coffee into the machine. He sighed. It would be tea after all, apparently. He rose and moved to one of the cupboards, looking for tea bags. He found a small box of raspberry tea and decided that that would do. He didn't have enough energy to look for more.

He draped the tea back in his mug and watched as the coffee machine poured him boiling water. When he had enough for a proper cupful, he yanked the coffee pot out and poured the water into his mug, managing to neither scald himself nor break the pot in the process. He returned the pot to its place on the machine and gingerly sipped the raspberry tea. It wasn't too awful, he decided.

He heard a noise behind him, and he turned to see Potter eyeing the coffee pot, a slight smile on his face. Blaise scowled. "Not one word," he warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Potter assured him. He got himself a mug and produced some proper tea from somewhere. Blaise refused to allow himself to gaze at it enviously, but there was no denying he would have preferred real tea to this raspberry concoction, which he was beginning to doubt was tea at all. He sighed very softly and took another sip.

"Are you hungry?" Potter asked.

Blaise was, but he only shrugged. Potter, who had a Slytherin for love of his life, correctly interpreted this gesture as, 'yes, give me food_now_,' and grinned. Suddenly, his grin turned into shock, and then a grimace of pain. Blaise grinned. Apparently his little gift of the night before was taking effect.

"What the…?" Potter murmured, moving inexorably away from the cupboard he'd been in the process of opening and towards the stairs. Blaise watched, his face carefully controlled once more. Moments later, Draco came tumbling down the stairs, as though he too were being pulled by a force outside his control.

"What's going on?" he demanded, looking at Potter.

Potter shrugged helplessly. "I have no clue," he said.

"Blaise?" Draco demanded, turning to his friend.

Blaise looked at the two of them, his face a perfect mask of bland innocence. "Yes Draco?"

Draco shook his head in disgust, then stiffened. Blaise held his breath, hoping they wouldn't figure him out. It would truly be a shame to be forced to remove the spell before it had run its full course.

"Weasley," Draco breathed, and Blaise let out a quiet sigh of relief. _Now_ he could enjoy the show in peace.

Potter blinked. "What?"

"Remember last night? I'd be willing to bet the contents of my vault that he wasn't just excited about the end of term. He must have done this to us!"

Potter frowned. "Why would Ron do something like that?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know. But do you have any better theories?"

Helplessly, Potter shook his head.

"I didn't think so," Draco said. "I'll go and get him, shall I?"

Potter nodded, and Draco set off towards the stairs. He didn't get three feet before he stopped, gasping in surprise and pain. Potter's face turned white, and they staggered together. Their hands touched, and both of their faces relaxed. Draco scowled.

"Looks like we'll have to go together," he said grimly.

Potter nodded, and they carefully made their way out of the kitchen, still clutching hands. Blaise grinned widely as they left. Yes, this was going to be great fun.

They returned moments later with a rather bedraggled Weasley. Draco sat him down at the table and glared at him. "What have you done to us?" he demanded, wincing as he unconsciously tried to move away from Potter.

Weasley frowned. "Me? I haven't done anything!"

Potter looked at him. "Ron, please tell us the truth."

A rapidly concealed flash of pain crossed Weasley's face, followed by anger. "I'm not lying," he said. He turned to glare at Blaise. "Why don't you ask _him_ what's wrong? It was _his_ charm!"

The two wheeled to glare at Blaise, who shot Weasley a dirty look.

"Blaise," Draco said warningly.

Blaise idly took a sip of the raspberry water. "It's a variation on the permanent sticking charm," he said, not bothering to look at Draco. "It pulls the two of you inexorably closer to each other."

Draco's eyes widened, and he looked at Potter in horror. "Take it off!" he ordered tightly.

Blaise set down his mug. "Now, that would involve doing more magic," he pointed out. "Which would you prefer: to be bound to loverboy there for two days, or to have your mother swooping down on us?"

Draco winced, clearly weighing his choices. Finally, he asked, "It only lasts two days?"

Blaise nodded.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "How do we know you aren't lying?"

Blaise raised his right hand, locking eyes with Draco. "I swear by Salazar Slytherin himself that the spell wears off in two days."

Draco nodded, satisfied. "He's telling the truth."

"You're sure?"

Draco nodded again, and shot a dark glare at Blaise. "And _you_, my friend, will be _very_ sorry for this."

Blaise smiled, completely unconcerned. Draco wouldn't use magic, and both of them knew it. Of course, Draco was resourceful enough that he wouldn't need it, but Blaise was confident he could deal with whatever Draco threw at him. He took another drink of the raspberry substance which was, he thought with a wry grin, almost, but not quite, entirely _unlike_ tea.


	6. yet another title too long to post

_Author's note: okay, so I started this thinking it would be fun and light and sarcastic, and what do I get? Three guesses, and the last two don't count. Yup, _more_ angst! I think I need to hire a new muse… Anyway, this is _still_ not mine, nor do I have nearly enough money to even consider buying any of Harry Potter. (Though I'd buy Draco if I could. Tom Felton too. :D. Just kidding.)_

* * *

6: In which Blaise discovers the extent of Draco's revenge

Draco's revenge was swift and merciless. After he and Potter endured the two days of forced contact – something they didn't mind nearly as much as Blaise had hoped – Draco announced that the two of them were going into town for a bit.

At first, Blaise hadn't suspected anything out of the ordinary. Going into town was the kind of thing Draco tended to do, and he suspected all the villagers knew who he and Potter were. But, the more he thought about it, the more his Slytherin instinct for treachery sent off warnings. This was too simple for Draco. Surely the blond could have thought of something better! Blaise was forcibly reminded of the promise that had gotten him into this mess: he hadn't thought _that_ would be dangerous either.

Sure enough, the morning after Draco's announcement, Blaise awoke to find Draco and Potter gone and the house locked. From the outside. He clenched his fists. "I am going to _kill_ him," he growled. A sudden, desperate hope struck him, and he turned the handle to Draco and Potter's room. It didn't open. He groaned in frustration and stomped down the stairs to the kitchen. As he'd half expected, a note from Draco lay on the table. He picked it up, his scowl deepening as he read.

_Dear Blaise and Weasley._

_Harry and I have decided to go out for a bit. We shouldn't be longer than a couple weeks. You have free reign of the house, though I'm afraid dirt crept into the hinges and none of the doors leading to the outside work at this point. We are both terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but we trust it will not be too much of a strain._

_Cordially yours,_

_D. Malfoy_

Blaise's hands shook with rage as he put the note down. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he picked it up again, staring at it. Yes, there was indeed the tiniest snake drawn by Draco's name. And Draco had the gall to tell Blaise they weren't allowed to use magic! Blaise fished out his wand and touched it to the snake, watching as the writing faded. Green letters replaced the black, though the penmanship was the same.

_Blaise._

_If you haven't snogged Weasley by the time we get back, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands. We're doing this for _your_ benefit. I hope you appreciate it._

_Draco._

Blaise's face contorted into an ugly sneer of rage. How _dare_ Draco do this to him? And after he'd promised not to interfere, too! He grabbed a quill from the jar on the shelf, dipped it into the inkbottle conveniently located next to it, and scrawled on the back of the note.

_Draco, you are in trouble. Big trouble. Death Eaters will be as nothing compared to what awaits you when you and Wonderboy come back. If I were you, I would turn around and start running. Terribly fast._

_B_

He yanked out his wand and touched it to the paper. "Transporto," he said viciously, watching as the paper began folding itself into a paper airplane. When it had finished, he added, "Draco Malfoy." The paper airplane seemed to nod, then it took off and zoomed off towards the window. It smashed right into it, falling to the ground in a pathetic little heap. Blaise looked at it, his face resigned. He should have realized that the spell wasn't powerful enough to give paper any sense. He decided to leave it where it was and hope Weasley wasn't clever enough to pick it up.

He turned towards the counter, intending to make himself something to eat, and frowned. Then, he sighed, rolling his eyes. The coffee machine dripped softly, dark brown liquid falling into the pot. Potter. It had to be. Blaise poured himself a cup, certain the emerald-eyed Gryffindor was secretly laughing at him. Why else would he leave such a pointed reminder of Blaise's inability to function in a proper kitchen.

The sound of stumbling feet alerted him to Weasley's presence, and Blaise said down at the table, taking a drink of the coffee. It was slightly too sweet for his tastes, but he would deal with that. It was a hell of a lot better than the raspberry substitute, which wasn't even proper tea. The label marked it as a, 'soothing herbal remedy,' whatever that was.

"Can I have some of that?" Weasley asked, pointing at the coffee.

Blaise shrugged. "I won't stop you."

Weasley nodded and fetched his own mug. Blaise watched him out of the corner of his eye, unable to help himself. He and Weasley had barely spoken for the last two days, something which Blaise suspected had factored rather heavily into Draco's decision to lock them up together. Blaise couldn't help being more than a little irritated that Weasley had ratted him out, though he was fairly sure he knew the reason. The flash of pain on Weasley's face had been rather obvious. Or rather, it had been obvious to him. Who knew what Draco had seen? Then again, if Draco _had_ seen it, that might be another reason to take Potter and go far away. Draco could be rather territorial, and Blaise knew he wouldn't like Weasley trying to steal Potter away. Not that Weasley was trying very hard, mind you, but Draco wouldn't care.

"Where are Harry and Malfoy?"

Blaise shrugged again. "They've abandoned us. After locking the doors, may I add."

Weasley winced. "How long will they be gone?"

"According to Draco, two weeks. If I know Draco, though, probably more like a month. Which reminds me." He rose and went to fetch his wounded airplane. Weasley looked at it curiously, but Blaise ignored him. He examined the thing, decided it was fixable, and smoothed it out again. Weasley craned his neck, reading the words Blaise had penned.

"Why are you so angry with him?"

Blaise shook his head. "Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to read someone else's mail, Weasel?"

Weasley scowled. "You're not one to talk, Zabini," he spat.

Blaise controlled the instinctive wince at the other boy's harsh tone and adopted what he hoped was an expression of bored disinterest. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Stop playing innocent. You're the one who screens everyone's owls before they reach the table."

Blaise relaxed. Was that all? "The stories have gotten wildly out of proportion," he informed Weasley.

"Really?"

"Really."

"All stories start somewhere," Weasley informed him.

Blaise shrugged. "So they do," he agreed. "But what makes them stories is the element of fiction. So, no, I am not in the habit of reading everyone's mail at school, which should have been obvious if you had but stopped to think. Granted, thinking is not your strong point, I know, but even you should realize that I would never have time to do anything else if I read everyone's mail every morning."

Weasley frowned, whether at the insult to his intelligence or because he was attempting to understand what Blaise was telling him, and demanded, "So where did the story start?"

Blaise sighed and set his cup down. "I don't believe that's your business Weasley," he said icily. He _really_ didn't want to tell _that_ story. Especially not to Weasley.

Weasley crossed his arms. "What did you do, Zabini?"

"Why don't you ask Draco?" Blaise demanded bitterly, turning back to the note and smoothing it out. "I'm sure he would be glad to tell you. Or, if you'd rather, you could ask your little friend and he could ask Draco. I doubt Draco could deny him anything at this point." He replaced the spell on the message and picked it up, moving with it to the fireplace. "Draco Malfoy," he informed it, and threw it up the chimney.

Weasley continued to stare at him, anger evident on his irresistible features. "He's _not_ my little friend," he hissed.

"No, you only wish he was," Blaise shot back.

There was a gasp and the sound of breaking crockery as Weasley dropped his coffee cup. "Shut up!" he screamed. "Shut _up_!" He shot a furious glare at Blaise, then turned and ran out of the kitchen, leaving Blaise staring after him, a tight ball of self-loathing prominently lodged in his throat.


	7. In which Blaise and Ron converse

_Author's note: last chapter for today, unfortunately. I have school tomorrow. Anyway, as the title suggests, this entire chapter is one big Blaise/Ron moment. Hope you like it. (Since you're all smart people here, I'm going to stop telling you I'm not JK Rowling. It seems a bit repetitive.)_

* * *

7: In which Blaise and Ron converse

After standing stunned for a long moment, Blaise put his own mug carefully down on the hearth and made his way slowly up the stairs. He paused in front of the door, wondering what in Hell he thought he was doing. Weasley certainly wouldn't want _him_ right now, and, if Blaise was perfectly honest with himself, he wouldn't want him right now either. He'd had no business saying that to Weasley. With an angry sigh, he added yet another mark in his mental accounts book. Someway, somehow, all of this was Draco's fault, and Blaise intended to make him pay through the nose.

Unfortunately, making Draco suffer was a pleasure reserved for the far future. The near future held Blaise and Weasley locked together in a house that suddenly seemed much smaller than it had before with Weasley hating Blaise's guts and Blaise passionately in love with Weasley. It wasn't the kind of situation Blaise cared to get himself it, though there was no denying it would make a fabulous soap opera. His mouth twitched into a crookedly ironic grin. Who knew, maybe he would write it. _Desperate Houseguests_ had a nice ring. He added it to his mental list of things that would be fun to do if and when he ever got the time, and returned to his present situation. The fact remained that he was standing outside his own room, too afraid of his roommate's reaction to go in. It was beyond ridiculous, and he pushed the door open.

Weasley sat there, of course, back turned towards the door and head in hands. His red hair, fashionably shaggy, tumbled down to cover his face, leaving his neck tantalizingly bare. Blaise pinched himself again, noting that his arm would probably be completely bruised over by the time the summer was over.

"Go away," Weasley said, not looking at Blaise, his voice muffled by his hands.

Blaise took a deep breath. Now or never, he told himself firmly. "I apologize," he said formally, hoping he sounded sincere. Apologizing wasn't something Slytherins normally did, _especially_ not to Gryffindors. "It was wrong of me to say what I did."

After a_very_ long, _very_ uncomfortable moment of utter silence, Weasley turned to face Blaise. His eyes were red rimmed and there were tear streaks running down his face, but Blaise did him the courtesy of pretending not to notice. "_What_ did you say?" Weasley demanded.

Blaise scowled. "I _said_, I apologize. It's not something I do often, so feel flattered."

Weasley shook his head in slow disbelief. "Did I hear this right? _You_ are apologizing to _me_? Why is this not on tape?"

"Don't push your luck," Blaise warned acidly.

Weasley sighed. "Is that all you came to say?"

Blaise shrugged. "Unless you have something pressingly urgent to tell me, then yes."

Weasley turned away, and Blaise started to leave. Suddenly, Weasley's voice rang out, softer than a whisper yet perfectly audible to Blaise. "You were right, though."

Blaise blinked and slowly shifted so that he was once again facing Weasley's back. He let the door close behind him and crossed the room, lounging against the door to examine Weasley's profile. "I beg your pardon?"

Weasley raised his eyes to meet Blaise's, and they were filled with naked pain. "About my wanting Harry," he explained. "I do. I want him and I'll never have him."

"Join the club," Blaise muttered.

Weasley blinked, startled. "What?"

Blaise shook his head, but Weasley leaned forward, unyielding. "What do you mean? Are you…"

"I can't believe I'm telling you this," Blaise said, wondering if Draco had slipped something into the coffee. Something that made Blaise lose all his caution, perhaps. "But yes. I am currently in love with a person who loves another."

"And…?"

"And what?"

"And what do you do?" Weasley demanded, rolling his eyes. "How do you stand it?"

Blaise shrugged, uncomfortable beyond belief. "I have to," he said simply. "There's nothing I can do, so I deal with it."

"Wish I could do that," Weasley said bitterly. "But I watch him making puppy faces at Malfoy and…"

"And it hurts," Blaise finished softly. "It hurts your soul and there's nothing you can do. You close your eyes at night, praying he'll notice you, even though you know you don't have a chance." He laughed, a harsh, cynical sound. "Trust me Weasley. You're not alone."

Weasley stared at him. "How do you know?" he demanded.

"Weren't you listening?" Blaise burst out.

"It hurts you too?" Weasley whispered. Blaise contented himself with nodding.

"I… I guess I thought I was the only one," Weasley admitted.

Blaise snorted. "Forgive me for saying this, but that's the most self-centered thing I've ever heard. You think you're the only one with love troubles in the world?"

"Well, no, but…"

"But nothing. Talk to Potter: I'm sure he's had more than his fair share."

Weasley blinked. "But he and Malfoy…"

"…had to get together at some point," Blaise cut in. "And I don't know about Potter, but Draco certainly went through more than his fair share of pain and indecision before he confessed to your friend."

Weasley nodded slowly. "Harry _did_ seem depressed before," he admitted. "But he's always that way, so none of us paid attention."

"Is he now?"

"No," Weasley admitted. "Not since he and Malfoy officially became a couple."

Blaise nodded, satisfied. "There you go. Trust me, everyone has romance troubles."

"I suppose."

They sat for another moment in silence. Finally, Weasley sighed. "Um, this is going to sound really awkward, but thanks."

Blaise inclined his head. "Any time," he said politely.


	8. In which Draco abruptly changes plans

_Author's note: sorry it took me so long to update. Break ended abruptly and I had to return to the real world. But here is chapter eight, and chapter nine should be coming soon. And, no, we are still not JK Rowling. She has better things to do than write fanfiction about her own characters._

* * *

8: In which Draco abruptly changes plans

By the time the promised two weeks were up, Blaise considered his promise to Draco completed. Though he had not snogged Weasley, nor had he attempted to do so, the two boys were at least on speaking terms. For Blaise, that was accomplishment enough. After all, he had gone into this expecting to be shunned and hurt, and he had come out with at least a casual friendship. In Blaise's book, that was good enough.

As Blaise had expected, Draco and Potter called to inform him that they would be returning a little later than expected. Blaise took advantage of the situation to tell Draco _precisely_ what he thought of his so-called friend's scheme, though he had to avoid saying anything straight out, since Weasley was standing behind him the entire time. Still, by the time Blaise hung up, Weasley's mouth was hanging open with admiration at some of Blaise's more… choice phrases.

"Blimey," he said finally. "How do you _know_ all of those?"

Blaise eyed him pityingly. "It's clear _you_ never survived Slytherin," he answered dryly. "If you had, you would understand. Draco knows worse."

Weasley shook his head in amazement. "Remind me to tell my mum that next time she threatens to wash my mouth out for saying 'bloody hell'."

Blaise stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh, you sheltered child," he managed finally. "My mother would bless me if that was all I said."

Weasley grimaced. "You're lucky."

"No, not really," Blaise muttered without thinking.

Weasley frowned. "What?"

Hurriedly, Blaise shook his head. "Never mind."

Wealsey looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. Changing the subject, he nodded towards the phone. "What did he do, anyway?"

"Who, Draco?"

Weasley nodded.

Blaise shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary. He's just being Draco."

"I don't see how anyone can be friends with him," Weasley muttered under his breath. "He's a git."

"He invited you along, didn't he?" Blaise shot back, stung by Weasley's casual assessment of Draco, forgetting that he'd been thinking worse himself only moments before.

"Harry invited me," Weasley corrected. "There's a difference."

"You're here, at least. Wouldn't you rather be here than at your house?"

Weasley rounded on him, his lips tight. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked tightly, his fists clenching.

Blaise, ignoring the slight wrenching in his belly, sighed. "Must you be so touchy about everything? Surely you enjoy getting away from your family occasionally. I know I do."

Weasley eyed him for a long moment, then slowly relaxed his body. "Oh." He didn't apologize. Blaise hadn't expected him to.

"How long will they be gone?" Weasley asked, changing the subject again.

Blaise shrugged, secretly relieved to sidestep any mention of his mother. "He _said_ three days. Knowing Draco, we should plan on another week, at least."

Weasley sighed. "Why do I get the feeling he's enjoying seeing us suffer?"

"Maybe because he is," Blaise replied tartly. "It's Draco's style."

"And yet you're still his friend. Why?"

Blaise sighed. How to answer such a question? Finally, he shrugged. "It's… complicated."

"I'm sure I can handle it."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "It's less a question of you handling it than my not particularly wanting to talk about it."

He knew instantly that it was the wrong thing to have said. Weasley's eyes brightened and his face became insistent. "It can't be that bad, surely!"

Later, Blaise would tell himself that he was only trying to get Weasley off his back. He would insist that he'd done it out of self defense, not because he couldn't help himself. It would be a lie, though. As he opened his mouth to speak, he only thought of making Weasley happy, of making those beautiful brown eyes watch him and smile as he told his story.


	9. Guess what, another one too long to post

_Author's note: Look, another chapter! So much for promising to update soon... -sigh- (And this time, it's Tamara's fault! SHE was the one who didn't know what to write!) Anyway, hope you like it. Yes, it's all Blaise's story. The next chapter gets back to the actual plot. Reviews make us very happy, and they might even incite us to update faster!  
Disclaimer: We're not JK Rowling, we don't own anything, and the last line is adapted from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. (We're in America. You guys in Britain know that one as the Philosopher's Stone.)_

* * *

9: In which Blaise informs you, the reader, about his life and family

Blaise first saw Draco when he was eleven years old. Both of them were being chaperoned by their mothers, and the two women nodded coolly to each other. Narcissa Malfoy and Syd Zabini were well known to be rivals, and, personal feelings set aside, they could not appear in public as anything more. Blaise, who knew perfectly well that his mother was actually one of Narcissa's best friends, found this entire thing more than a little ridiculous, but he said nothing. He knew well enough that his mother would tolerate no nonsense from him, especially not here.

"Sending your son to Hogwarts?" Narcissa asked, eyeing Blaise as one might a toad: not with active loathing, but only with a kind of mild disgust.

Syd inclined her head. "I am indeed. So are you, I see. Blaise, meet Draco Malfoy. You two will be in the same House at school."

Blaise nodded once to the other boy, and the boy nodded back. Their eyes met and held, and Blaise knew that they would not be friends. Something about the other boy rubbed Blaise the wrong way.

"A bit hasty, don't you think?" Narcissa was saying. "There is no way of knowing what House they will be in ahead of time."

Syd's smile was brittle and arrogant. "You might not think _your_ son is good enough for Slytherin," she retorted smoothly. "But I know that Blaise will shine there."

Narcissa drew herself up haughtily. "Draco is every bit as good as your son. They will both do well in the House of Snake."

"We shall see, won't we?" Syd agreed. "Come Blaise." She swept away, Blaise following her like a lapdog. Narcissa did the same. As they parted, both Blaise and Draco looked back, and their eyes met in a moment of perfect understanding: they would be enemies.

On the train two days later, Blaise found himself sitting in the same compartment as the other future Slytherins. He knew them all, or, at least, he knew of their families. The world of pureblood politics was complicated even for the most experienced players, and Blaise was not one. He kept quiet, watching as the Parkinson girl sucked up to Draco. To his credit, he seemed uninterested and bored by her attempts, but Blaise was still disgusted and, though he would never admit it to anyone, a little jealous. None of the other students were courting _him_! But he was a Zabini, and any Zabini would rather die than admit to jealousy, so he kept quiet.

The sorting ceremony held no surprises. Well, none for him. He'd know the second Harry Potter's name was called that the black haired boy would end up in Gryffindor. Where else would someone like that go?

He and Draco were, of course, in Slytherin. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to bear his mother's look if he hadn't made it in. From Draco's slight sigh of relief, Blaise suspected that he'd been thinking the same thing. But mutual relief didn't make them friends, and Blaise still didn't like the other boy.

Their first year passed calmly enough, disturbed by nothing more than the occasional troll and the death of a Professor. Draco gained followers, and Blaise acquired the reputation of quiet and aloof. He didn't mind, much. It would have been nice, occasionally, to have the same amount of slavish adoration that Draco enjoyed, but, he told himself firmly, it would get old very fast.

It wasn't until the beginning of the second year, with the appearance of the so-called Heir of Slytherin, that the two boys began to reconcile their differences. Blaise quickly saw through Draco's insistence that the Heir was Potter, just as Draco saw through Blaise's arrogant denial of the entire situation. Both boys understood, though neither spoke of it. Fear was something they all lived with, and it was not something usually spoken of.

As the petrifications continued and both Blaise and Draco began getting almost daily owls from their respective mothers, the fragile bond between them grew. Soon, Draco began making eye contact with Blaise during classes, and Blaise didn't mind being caught thinking about the other boy. Slowly but surely, the two rivals were becoming friends.

Still, by the time the supposed Heir had been caught and tossed out – and, whatever Draco claimed, Blaise refused to believe it was that oaf of a gamekeeper: he was too stupid and too slavishly devoted to Dumbledore to ever do anything like that – they were still far from bosom buddies. Their relationship was more like that of their parents: cool and courteous, without being openly affectionate or friendly.

That summer passed all too slowly for Blaise, stuck as he was with his mother and her husband of the time, an elderly, balding man with more gold than sense and more arrogance than gold. By the time September 1st rolled around, Blaise was more than happy to leave, even if it did mean spending another year cooped up with Draco. Anything had to be better than answering to his mother and avoiding his step father. Well, almost anything.

Thankfully, that was the year things would change between the two boys. It started simply enough, with Blaise remarking one night in the common room that Draco seemed to be baiting Potter more than usual. "Thinking of moving in with him, are you?" were the words Blaise had used, and everyone laughed, even Draco, though Blaise could tell that it was more than a little forced. When Draco delivered a suitably cutting retort (something about not living with animals), the conversation shifted and Blaise was once more cut out of it. He didn't mind. Draco's momentary lapse in control had given him much to think about.

He said nothing over the next several weeks, content to watch and take notes. By the time Halloween came by, he was sure. Draco didn't hate Potter anymore. Maybe, though Blaise hesitated to voice the thought, maybe Draco wanted to be more than friends. He shied away from the notion as quickly as possible, but it refused to leave completely.

Blaise still didn't know why Draco had come to _him_ instead of some of his followers for advice. Maybe it was that Blaise could be trusted to keep silent, or maybe just that Draco knew Blaise wouldn't feel threatened by Draco. Either way, the blond boy cornered Blaise just before the Christmas Holidays.

"What do you want?"

"Listen to me Zabini, because I'm only going to say this once. I need help, and you're the only one who can provide it."

"Should I feel flattered?"

"Shut up and listen. I'm in love with Potter, and he's in love with me and I have to tell my father."

"I fail to see what this has to do with me."

Draco's hand rose as though to hit Blaise, then fell again as Draco struggled to control his temper. "If you will shut the _fuck_ up for a moment, I will tell you," he said through tightly clenched teeth. He waited, but Blaise knew better than to open his mouth again. Even at thirteen, Draco was a formidable wizard. "Your mother is my mother's best friend. Get her to invite my mother to your house over the holidays. Then I'll tell my father in peace, and he won't feel obligated to castrate me or anything like that."

"And he would feel obligated to do such a thing if your mother was home?"

"Yes."

"And what do I get in return?"

"An ally."

"Sorry. I don't need any at the moment."

Once again, Draco's hand rose, and this time, he didn't bother controlling it. His fist hit Blaise's face with a hard smack, leaving Blaise slightly stunned. "You _will_ do this," Draco hissed. "Or I'll make your life living Hell."

Blaise looked at the other boy, his dark eyes blazing with hatred. "You don't scare me," he retorted, pretending he didn't feel the pain from his bruised cheek.

"You should be afraid of me," Draco informed him. "You know I have the power to carry out my threats."

As Blaise tried to think of a suitably biting retort, Draco's hand suddenly dropped and his slender form slumped. Blaise looked at him in surprise.

"Please? I… I don't know what else to do."

Blaise considered for a moment, then decided to give in. Something about the sheer pathetic-ness of Draco's plea hit a chord inside Blaise, and the dark-haired boy suddenly remembered all the times he'd begged for something and not gotten it. This was clearly very important to Draco, far more so than toys or brooms.

"All right."

"You'll do it?"

Blaise nodded. "You'll owe me a favor."

"Anything." There was no hint of anything but complete sincerity in Draco's voice.

"Good. Now, we're late to class. I'll write Mother tonight."

"Thank you." The Malfoy mask was back, but Blaise knew instinctively that things would be different now. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and tackling Lucius Malfoy is one of them.


	10. Sigh, another long one

_Author's note: we're going to concentrate on this story, mostly because we need something happy to work on right now. therapy by writing is one thing, but the best therapy is just writing happy things. or at least things that aren't angst. anyway, this is the closest we have and, anyway, we like it. so we're going to go on a posting spree and post lots and lots in a short period of time. have fun reading!  
Disclaimer: if i were jk rowling, then harry and draco would be together, ron wouldn't hate slytherins, and dumbledore would have come out a lot sooner than this._

* * *

10. In which Blaise and Ron get one step closer

Weasley stared at Blaise for a long moment, his mouth slightly agog. "So you spent years hating each other, and then became friends just like that?"

Blaise inclined his head in agreement.

"There's something mildly disturbing about that."

"Is there? I fail to see what."

Weasley shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I just don't get it. The whole thing between your mothers confuses me too."

Blaise refrained from saying that her suspected many things confused Weasley, and shrugged instead. "You are obviously not a Slytherin."

"We've established that," Weasley reminded him.

"So we have."

There was a moment of silence, then Weasley frowned again. "So you and Malfoy are now best friends. Do your mothers still pretend to hate each other?"

"They try to, yes."

"Then how do they react to knowing the two of you are friends."

Blaise winced, completely unintentionally. He tried to make up for it by scowling, but it didn't work and he knew it.

"She _is_ angry, isn't she?"

Blaise sighed. Might as well get it over with. "My mother regards me as little more than a nuisance and a disappointment. I doubt there is anything I could do that would make her change her mind."

Weasley blinked. "Why?"

Blaise shrugged. "Who knows? That's just the way she is."

"Oh." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "I'm sorry."

Blaise blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Weasley shrugged, his ears turning a fairly vivid shade of crimson. "I'm sorry that she hates you."

"She doesn't hate me. I don't think she thinks about me enough to properly hate me." It was surprisingly easy to talk about this with Weasley. He'd expected any conversations at all, much less ones involving such touchy subjects, to be awkward and full of embarrassing stutters and blushes for them both, but he was completely comfortable. More comfortable, in fact, than he'd ever been with Draco. Something about Weasley's open, honest face combined with the call of the brown eyes opened Blaise's tongue and allowed him to spout out the most amazing things.

"Oh."

Despite the ease of the conversation, Blaise didn't particularly want to stay on this same topic. Searching at random for something else to talk about, he asked, "So what about your family?"

"What do you want to know?"

He shrugged. "What's it like? I've always been an only child, so I wouldn't know anything about having siblings. I imagine it must be fairly maddening to have no privacy, but I could be wrong."

Weasley began to talk and, as he talked, Blaise felt himself begin to fill with an unfamiliar emotion. It couldn't be… jealousy, could it? What did Weasley have that he, Blaise, didn't? Yet, as Weasley continued to talk, Blaise began to see. The redheaded Gryffindor had had all the things Blaise lacked: company, friendship, love… a general sense of being wanted. It wasn't any of the factors alone, but, when they were all combined, they painted a compelling picture, one that Blaise would be hard-pressed to despise. He almost began to admire the family… almost. He still had his pride, after all, and it would be death to truly admire a family like the Weasleys, regardless of their closeness and/or contentment.

When Weasley finally slowed to a stop, Blaise was silent for a long moment. Finally, searching for something to say, he remarked, "I can see why the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor."

Weasley blinked, clearly thrown off. "What do you mean?"

Blaise smirked slightly, more to prove to himself that he was still the cynical, sarcastic Slytherin everyone thought he was than because he actually wanted to smirk at Weasley, though that was a part of it. "No one but a Gryffindor would treat such a simple question as a personal affront and then do everything they could to win the perceived argument."

"Sounds like a Slytherin thing to me."

Blaise shook his head. "We wouldn't bother. If we see it as an affront, there's no point in arguing. We go straight to duels."

Weasley snorted. "This would explain why Slytherin has such a bad reputation, wouldn't it?"

"Would it? Being from Slytherin, I wouldn't know."

"Biased opinion?"

"Exactly."

"Fair enough. So take it from me, and my very unbiased opinion," he ignored Blaise's snort of disbelief, "that this is why you have a bad reputation."

"I will take your word for it. I am sure your opinion is far less biased than mine could ever be."

Weasley completely failed to notice the sarcasm, and nodded in agreement. Blaise sighed slightly. Whatever had possessed his heart to pin itself on a boy with such little understanding of the finer arts of conversation. He really would never have survived in Slytherin.

Changing the subject again, more to save himself from frustration than to save Weasley from embarrassment, Blaise changed the subject again.

"So what about you and Potter? You've been joined at the hip for most of your careers here, as far as I can tell, but when did you actually meet?"

Weasley explained about meeting on the train and the confrontation with Draco. Blaise nodded. That explained a lot of things. He glanced at his watch, noting with surprise that they'd been talking for several hours already. That had to be some kind of record. Apart from Draco and Potter – and Blaise didn't choose speculate on how much time the happy couple actually spent _talking_ – no Slytherin had talked to a Gryffindor for that long since the founding of the school. He found that he was glad it had been him who'd changed the dynamics.


	11. In Which Blaise makes a mistake

_Author's note: I know I said I wouldn't update again tonight, but I just had to write this. Actually, it was meant to be fluff, but it didn't quite turn out that way. -sigh-. Anyway, just so everyone knows, none of us have never in our life been drunk, so I know nothing about how it actually works. This is what my imagination gave me when I asked it what being drunk was like. Oh, and pissed is a British word for drunk, for any Americans who don't know that. Dang, writing this has affected my mood. Now I'm all loopy and out of it. I don't think this is normal, do you?  
Disclaimer: I like Draco too much to be J.K. Rowling.  
--Tamara_

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11. In Which Blaise makes a mistake

He wouldn't have said it if he hadn't been drunk. And he wouldn't have been drunk if Weasley hadn't gone out to get them muggle drinks. And Weasley wouldn't have gotten out of the house if Blaise hadn't picked the lock. And Blaise wouldn't have picked the lock if Weasley hadn't looked at him with those damn puppy eyes and demanded to be let out. But, in the end, it didn't really matter why he'd said it. What mattered was that he had said it, and now he couldn't take it back.

He hadn't meant to. They'd been talking… and drinking. They were entitled, after all! Both of them were of age – well, nearly of age – and, after all, they were on holiday. It wasn't as thought they were at _school_ or anything, right? Draco and Potter probably did this kind of thing all the time! Not that Draco's behavior was anything to go on, but even so…

Weasley was clearly unused to alcohol, judging from the amount it took to get him rolling drunk. Blaise had a better head for the stuff than the other boy, but even he hadn't had much experience with it. He was only sixteen, after all. His mother might not have cared, but she didn't go out of her way to expose him to things, either. He knew _she_ drank – he couldn't help it, the way she carried on after a bottle or so – but she'd never shown him where she kept her stash and he'd never looked for it. That wasn't to say he was completely inexperienced – no friend of Draco's could be inexperience in matters of alcohol – but he wasn't anywhere close to making a habit of it either.

It had started out as a game. A stupid muggle game that Weasley had played with his kid sister at a party once. Or maybe he'd played it with Potter at a party. The details were a bit fuzzy. But it didn't matter. The point was that Weasley knew the rules, and Blaise was too pissed by that point to object. So they sat down across from each other and, still passing the bottle, began asking each other questions. Apparently the game was called something along the lines of, "truth or dare," which didn't really make any sense, but what the hell? Nothing made much sense.

They'd been pretty far in the game – and pretty far through the second bottle… or maybe it was the third – when the real questions began. They'd long ago dispensed with the dares, finding such things impractical when both of them had more than a little trouble standing. All right, so neither of them could even really sit up straight anymore. The warm glow of alcohol in his belly gave Blaise the courage to lean against Weasley in ways he would never even have considered sober.

And then Weasley asked The Question. The one that brought Blaise crashing down from his soaring high and back to the real world. He doubted Weasley even knew what he'd asked, smashed as he was. It was just one more in a series of increasingly lewd questions. Weasley couldn't know how this one affected Blaise… could he?

"C'm on," Weasley slurred, leaning close again. "Ansher the queshion. Who d'you want to fuck mosht?"

Oh, hang it all. It couldn't really hurt things, could it? After all, it really was only a matter of time before Weasley found out, wasn't it? Still Blaise hesitated, and Weasley's eyes lit up with triumph.

"I knew it!" he crowed, and Blaise's stomach dropped. "It'sh Malfoy, ishn't it?"

Draco? Of course it wasn't Draco! What did Draco have to do with anything? That wasn't the right answer! But Blaise nodded anyway, the modicum of self-preservation he had left making him agree to the outrageous statement.

"I've known for a long time," Weasley confided. "It'sh obvioush."

Was it? Blaise certainly hadn't intended for it to be. He racked his brains with very little success, trying to think if he'd been flirting with Draco. He certainly hoped he hadn't been. He didn't want to die, and trying to steal Harry Potter's boyfriend, even unintentionally, seemed a good way to do it.

"I won't tell, though," Weasley continued, oblivious to Blaise's confusion. "I know what it'sh like." He reached over and patted Blaise's shoulder. "You can tell me. It'sh all right. I undershtand."

Blaise winced and pulled away. He was in no mood for drunk sympathy. His previous alcohol-induced euphoria was vanishing rapidly, leaving nothing but irritability and annoyance. He stood, swaying. Weasley watched as he left the room, hanging on to any objects he could find, a feat made difficult by the fact that everything seemed to have doubled and was having lots of trouble staying still. He hoped they hadn't been using magic. Draco would _kill_ them if they were found out.

He finally managed to attain the bed and collapsed onto it. He stuck his head under the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get the world to stop spinning around him. Did people actually _enjoy_ this? They must be crazier than Blaise had imagined.

Weasley came up a long time later, singing slightly under his breath. He was off key, but Blaise didn't notice. Not that he would have cared. Weasley flopped onto his side of the bed and rolled over, going to sleep immediately. Blaise watched him for a long time, thinking that the moonlight on his skin was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He reached out and gently stroked Weasley's cheek.

"It's not Draco," he whispered. "It's you. It's always been you."

He pulled his hand away and turned over himself, ready to attempt sleep. Only as he was finally drifting off did he realize with horror that Weasley hadn't, in fact, been snoring.


	12. In which things get awkward

_Author's note: so, if our calculations are correct (which they'd better be!) this story will be 17 chapters long. that means that you have a few more yet.  
anyway, not much to say about this chapter. tamara's in the right kind of mood again, so hopefully you will be getting some more tonight. hope you appreciate it. (hint hint review!) actually, you've all been very good about reviewing, and for that i thank you. -bows to kind reviewers- this chapter is dedicated to used romance, who is a wonderful person and a very loyal fan. thanks so much!  
Disclaimer: all i own is the story and far, _far_ too much music...  
--kyra_

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12. In which things get awkward

Blaise awoke in the morning with a massive headache and a guilty conscience. His brain insisted that _something_ was very off, but the rest of him couldn't quite figure out what it could be. Something to do with words best left unsaid…

He rolled over to find an empty bed. Something in his mind clicked at that, and he groaned. He promptly groaned again as the sound hit his oddly tender skull. That brought a few things back. Last night. Drunk. Truth or dare. Oh _shit_! He suddenly felt much less inclined to get out of bed and face life. Especially any part of life that contained Weasley. Yes, certainly nothing dealing with Weasley.

Still, he should probably get out of bed, at least. He'd heard something about walking in the rain or something along those lines to get rid of the hangover. Or maybe that was taking a cold shower. Or maybe that was supposed to _prevent_ the hangover. He couldn't remember, nor did he care to attempt. Mental gymnastics, hell, mental _anything_ was _way_ beyond him. It was all he could do to remember who he was.

Come to think of it, he should probably give that another try, just to make sure. Who was he? Blaise Lucas Zabini, only son (as far as he knew) of Syd Madonna Zabini Prewett Malfoy Rosier… he didn't even really know the rest. He could have thought of them all if he'd concentrated hard, but he was in no condition to concentrate, nor did he really care. His mother's many husbands, all of pure and rich families, were of absolutely no interest to him.

Okay, so he knew who he was. Now for something harder. Um… actually, thinking of something harder was hard in itself. He'd come back to that. What else? Coffee. That might help. How had Potter done it? He didn't know, and he didn't have any wish to try and think about it. Fine, no coffee then. Surely just water wouldn't be too hard, would it?

It was. Not only did Weasley immediately vacate the kitchen the moment Blaise appeared – looking no better than Blaise felt, to Blaise's secret pleasure – but the muggle sink stubbornly refused to work. Too out of it to realize he was turning the tap in the wrong direction, he pulled out his wand and just conjured up the blasted stuff. Who cared about anti-magic wards, anyway? Well, actually, he probably should care, but he had too much of a headache to care about _anything_ but getting it stopped.

It finally faded some time around mid-afternoon, leaving him pain free, if not in a better mood. Weasley still refused to make an appearance, and Blaise decided he was happy about that. Dealing with the redhead would probably be more than he could reasonably be expected to cope with.

They avoided each other for most of the next week, during which time Blaise found out exactly how small the house really was. It might seem big at first, but when two people couldn't stay in it without crossing paths, something was up. He found himself wishing he was back at his own house. There, at least, they would have had plenty of places to go without running into each other. Then again, had they been at his house, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to run into Weasley. All things considered, he would probably rather have had what little time he had managed to get than none at all. Something was better than nothing, though not much. They forgot to mention that when you ceased having said something, you had memories instead, which were, in many cases, worse than having nothing.

Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. Once again employing his hard-won skills at lock picking – no one but Blaise knew how he'd learned, and he intended to keep it that way – he slipped out of the house into the field beyond. He deliberately didn't relock the door, vaguely hoping that Weasley would follow. The other boy seemed in need of a good bit of tension-relieving exercise.

He hadn't brought his broom. Unlike Draco, he didn't worship his broomstick, and he certainly didn't fly it for pleasure. There were other, easier ways of relieving stress. He walked swiftly through the slightly damp grass, relieved it wasn't actively raining, and made his way away from the house. Once he'd reached a suitable place, he glanced behind him. Weasley hadn't followed. Good. It was all very well to hope that Weasley would get out of the house, but Blaise certainly didn't want the other boy following _him_.

He pulled out his wand, eyed a tree branch, and spoke a soft spell under his breath. A focused jet of blue light shot out of the tip and neatly cut the branch off the tree. Blaise summoned it, eyeing his work with a critical eye. Sloppy, he decided, examining the jagged cut with distaste. He was getting lazy. He hadn't had the opportunity to practice this particular spell for ages, and it showed.

As he practiced, his mind wandered down a well beaten path ending, as he'd known it would, with Weasley. He couldn't forget about the blasted Gryffindor, not even when he was alone. Those brown eyes haunted him every minute of the day, and, now that they weren't speaking again, it seemed even more common to catch himself thinking about the redhead. Blaise wasn't sure if it was his subconscious' way of telling him that it had _liked_ talking to Weasley, or just his deranged imagination acting up again, and he didn't care. The point was that he didn't really _want_ to spend his days mooning over Weasley. Mooning over unattainable boys was something his mother and, to an extent, Draco indulged themselves in, not Blaise. Blaise was the down-to-Earth one, the one who knew what he wanted and how to get it and didn't take no for an answer.

Except this time, he _didn't_ know how to get it. He knew what he wanted – that was simple enough – but he had no clue how to get there. He'd probably ruined all his chances, anyway. Who wants to know that they're being secretly lusted after by a boy they hate? Well, actually, Blaise could name a few, but he'd rather not think about them. There were boys in Slytherin who were seriously messed up that way. But Blaise wasn't one of them, and he was fairly certain Weasley wasn't either.

The thing to do, he thought, as he examined yet another shorn-off tree branch, was to forget about the whole thing. To just pretend it never happened. Better yet, to find a time turner and make it so that it never _had_ happened. Though, if he were to do that, then it wouldn't be necessary to go back in time, which would then mean that it would happen, which would necessitate the journey back, which would make the journey meaningless, which would… he stopped trying to rationalize. He would only drive himself mad doing that. So, pretend it never happened. Well, that was all very well, but how would he go about doing that? The obvious answer was to do just that, and never mention it, but Weasley had to agree as well. So what to do…?

By the time he finally quit for the day, he'd come up with a plan.


	13. and another title too long to post

_Author's note: _**-gasp!- Unlucky 13! We must navigate quickly away from the horrors of the number!**_  
Um... yeah. That was Caroline, being superstitious again. Honestly, for a girl as down-to-Earth as her, it's amazing how supersticious she actually is. Would you believe she actually believes our _calculator_ can tell the future? -shakes head-  
Anyway, this was a fun chapter to write. I've missed Blaise's sarcasm, so it was nice to get back to it. Don't worry, this isn't permanent. After all, truces are made to be broken, are they not? (_**For you, maybe. _Some_ of us actually _keep_ our words!**_) Don't you have something weird and occult to be doing, Caroline?  
Anyway, as I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted... _(_you_, my dear tamara, are no one to talk about being "rudely interrupted."_) And what is that supposed to mean, may I ask? (_Nothing, nothing..._)  
AS I WAS SAYING... actually, I can't even remember what I was saying. (_Something about being rudely interrupted._) Thank you Kyra, I figured that out myself. Oh, what's the use? Just... enjoy the chapter, all right?  
Disclaimer: I assure you, the voices JK Rowling's head are far, _far_ less irritating than mine. (_may i remind you that you're actually a voice in _my_ head, not the other way around?_) See what I mean?  
--tamara_

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13. In which Blaise attempts to negotiate a truce

"So you're saying that it didn't actually mean anything and that it actually is Draco?" Weasley's freckle-spotted face wrinkled slightly in an effort to understand Blaise's words.

Blaise nodded. "In essence, yes. I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it to him. I'd like to stay alive to graduate."

"You think he'll kill you if he knows?"

"I think Potter will."

Weasley shook his head. "No he won't. I know Harry."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh, do you? Ah, yes, I'd forgotten. Friends at first sight and all that. Well, let me inform you that you don't _really_ know someone until you've fallen in love with their partners."

"And you know this from experience, do you?"

"Not personal experience, no."

"Whose then?"

"I don't believe I shall tell you. Quite frankly, it's none of your business."

Weasley scowled. "Fine. I didn't want to know anyway."

"Oh, please. Spare me the five-year-old's temper tantrum, if you please. They long ago ceased to have an effect on me."

"Oh, I forgot. You're a jaded _Slytherin_, aren't you?"

"I'm assuming that your tone was not meant to sound quite so insulting."

"And what if it was?"

Blaise smiled cynically. "There's a _reason_ we're considered a dangerous House, Weasley. Believe me, you don't want to get on our bad side."

Weasley's ears were turning a dangerous shade of scarlet, but Blaise didn't care. He'd had to push all sentiment to the side to concoct his lie, and now he'd almost convinced himself that he was enjoying this. There was no denying that this exchange of verbal bullets was familiar, at the very least.

"You think you're better than me, don't you Zabini?" Weasley had well and truly exploded. His bellow shook the ceiling, and his wand was out and pointed straight at Blaise's chest. Blaise eyed it with distaste, then drew his own out with pointed slowness.

"In certain matters, yes. And may I suggest that we duel outside? I don't believe anyone would be pleased if we broke anything. Not even considering the damage to our own situation."

"Damage to our situation?"

"Magic sensors, Weasley. After all I've told you, do you _really_ want my mother swooping down on us?"

"She wouldn't hurt _me_. It's you she's after." Despite his bravado, Weasley sounded as though he would really rather avoid a confrontation with Blaise's mother. Blaise didn't blame him.

"You're from Gryffindor. I imagine she wouldn't particularly care what happened to you."

"She wouldn't hurt an innocent bystander, would she?"

Blaise sneered elegantly. "Leaving out the debate about whether anyone is truly innocent, she wouldn't hesitate in the least. There's a _reason_ the Dark Lord tried to recruit her."

"She's a Death Eater?!"

"Note the word 'tried'," Blaise snapped. "She's far too proud of her pure heritage to associate with any half-blood, even him."

"So why do you call him 'The Dark Lord' like all the Death Eaters do?"

"Because I respect his power and his abilities. Just because I don't happen to agree with his personal philosophy doesn't mean I can't respect him as a phenomenal wizard."

Weasley eyed him as though he were something lower than the lowest insect on the planet. "That's disgusting. How can you even _start_ to respect that… that _thing_?!"

"Just because _you_ see nothing but the motives doesn't mean the rest of us are so shallow. You can respect the artist without appreciating the work."

That led to a long, stiff silence. Finally, Weasley sighed. "I think we'd better go back to avoiding each other," he muttered. "This will only lead to more problems."

Blaise nodded. "I believe that was what I intended in the first place. How we got onto our present topic of conversation, I do not know."

"Your mother," Weasley reminded him coldly.

"Ah, of course."

Weasley turned to go. "I'm going to leave now."

Blaise nodded. "You do that. The front door's open, if you want to go out."

"How… no. Never mind."

He left, closing the door to the living room with something that could almost have been a slam. Blaise looked after him for a long moment, then shook his head. "That could have gone better," he muttered to the air. Then he retired to the library and tried to pretend that he didn't care what Weasley thought.


	14. In which Ron breaks the truce

_Author's note: so yeah. we really don't have much to say about this chapter, except that it's dedicated to D0nQuix0te_ _for waiting so patiently for her fluff, being an amazing person, and having no clue where to start her story. well, actually, that last isn't actually a good thing, but hopefully this will inspire her to write more. and yes, we know that it's probably not fluff in the best sense of the word, but it's sweet and light and there is _no_ angst. well, only a little. is it _our_ fault if we like that kind of thing??  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's books are longer than ours, but we write faster than she does.  
--kyra_

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14. In which Ron breaks the truce

And so things continued, and Blaise tried to pretend to himself that he enjoyed the solitude. After all, he was used to it. The only person who really talked to him was Draco, and even Draco spent most of his time with Potter these days. Not that Blaise blamed his supposed friend in the least. If the love of _his_ life loved him back, he wouldn't have much time for his friends either.

He winced away from the thought of the love of his life. That was a touchy subject right now, and he didn't want to have to think about. At least they didn't hate each other, right? After their conversation about Draco and the Dark Lord, Weasley had continued to avoid Blaise, but it was a different kind of avoiding: more of an "I don't understand you and am afraid your point of view might be contagious" state than a "You love me and I don't love you and this is exceedingly awkward" one. Disregarding the fact that Weasley probably didn't use words like "exceedingly" in his daily conversation.

But, when it came down to it, Blaise was lonely. He couldn't help it. He wasn't used to be _completely_ alone. Even as a child, there had been House-Elves and various husbands. Not that either of them were good conversationalists, but even so! They were better than nothing. This was worse. It wasn't like there _wasn't_ anyone in the house to talk to, just that the only other denizen didn't _want_ to talk to him. It hurt. It hurt far more than Blaise wanted to admit to _anyone_, especially himself. Draco would have cursed his eyebrows off and made him talk, but Draco was still off with Potter doing whatever it was they were doing. Blaise had the feeling that he really didn't want to know.

The days continued to pass, and the two's routine of avoiding each other became more a matter of habit than anything else. Weasley still didn't want to talk to Blaise, but Blaise suspected it was more to prove a point than because of any actual animosity on Weasley's part. Not that that changed much. It was nice to know that Weasley probably wouldn't hate him forever, but that didn't alter his immediate situation.

And then everything changed. It wasn't gradual, like Blaise falling for Weasley had been. It was brutal and sudden, a crack in a dam giving way to a torrent of water. Weasley started talking again. He didn't talk about anything important, just talked, and Blaise talked back. It wasn't anything like intimacy or even friendship, but it was far better than what they'd had before. Blaise didn't understand it, but he didn't question too hard. After all, no point pulling the bristles of a gift broom, right?

Apparently, though, Weasley had other plans. He took his time about revealing them, but he did, eventually. They were sitting in their room, both of them on opposite sides of the bed, when Weasley suddenly remarked, "You do realize that I know you're lying, right?"

Blaise blinked. "What?"

"About Malfoy. I know perfectly well that it's not him."

Blaise stared at Weasley blankly, wondering what on _Earth_ to say in response to that. He didn't want to lie, but neither did he want to tell the truth. It was the worst kind of impasse.

"I'm not mad, or anything."

"Well that's good." His brain had almost kicked in again, though he still had no clue how to go about responding. "What, may I ask, brought this up?"

Weasley shrugged, and Blaise got the distinct impression that he wasn't too sure himself. "I don't like being lied to."

"Well, now you have the truth."

"And… and I didn't want it to be Malfoy."

Blaise blinked. "Explain, please."

Weasley sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I… I'm not sure I can," he admitted. "I mean, it's been Harry for so _long_, and…" He trailed off, looking helplessly at Blaise. Blaise said nothing, waiting for him to continue. When he showed no signs of doing so, the black-haired Slytherin crossed his arms.

"Do you believe yourself to be falling out of love with Potter?" Weasley nodded. "Such things do happen, you know."

"Yes, but…"

"Is there someone else?" A small portion of Blaise's brain kicked him, demanding to know just what he thought he was doing. Blaise ignored it.

Weasley shrugged pathetically. "I don't _know_!" It came out almost as a wail. "That's just the problem, don't you see? I don't _know_ what I feel."

Blaise resisted the urge to run his hands through his own hair, settling for closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Without opening them, he asked, "What makes you think you like this person?"

"Oh, maybe that I can't stop thinking about them… him. Or that I keep dreaming about him. Or…"

Blaise lifted a hand. "I get the picture," he said acidly. It was harder than he would have imagined, to sit here talking about Weasley's love problems. "So what makes you unsure?"

"I've loved Harry forever," Weasley said simply. "Even from the very first. I've always wanted him to love me back, and… well, not much chance of that now, is there?"

"I doubt it," Blaise agreed. Now what? There was an obvious question to ask, of course, but he didn't really think he wanted to know the answer.

"It's not like I even ever thought I had a chance," Weasley continued bitterly, saving Blaise the need to ask the question. "I mean, it was perfectly obvious that he didn't like me, but even so… I let myself hope, and I should never have done that."

Privately, Blaise agreed. Whoever had said that hope was the only good thing in Pandora's Box clearly hadn't had _their_ heart broken.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Blaise sighed. He really shouldn't put it off any longer. "So who is it?"

Weasley looked at him with wide brown eyes. He looked so vulnerable that Blaise wanted to do nothing more than reach over and give him a hug, something that was clearly out of the question.

"Haven't you guessed yet?" Weasley's voice was a mere whisper. "It's you."


	15. In which Blaise calls up an old debt

_Author's note: and with this chapter, this is officially our longest story. yay! actually, maybe not so much yay, since people don't tend to read really long stories. or at least i don't. -shrug- maybe i'm too impatient. anyway, tamara would like to say that she thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter, and that she hopes you will enjoy reading it.  
Disclaimer: if we were jk rowling, don't you think we'd have thought of a better pen name?  
--kyra_

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15. In which Blaise calls up an old debt

A brief noise suddenly came from the hallway, causing them both to turn towards the door, their wands out and their eyes wide. It didn't come again, but Blaise stood anyway, moving silently towards the door. He slipped out into the hallway, looking for the person in their house. He hadn't left the door open… had he?

Suddenly, he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth curled into a grimaced. Raising his voice, he called, "You can come out now, Draco."

Not ashamed in the least, Draco did come out, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and smugness.

"Well?" Blaise demanded. "Would it have been too much to ask for some advanced warning?"

"Yes."

"I thought as much. How much did you overhear."

"Only the end," Draco assured him. "I was going to let you know that we'd come back, but you seemed so serious. I didn't want to interrupt you."

"How very thoughtful," Blaise said dryly. "Thank you so much for your consideration."

"Any time. Did I take you away from anything?"

"You heard as much as I did," Blaise reminded him.

"So I did. It was just getting interesting, too."

"You're the one who blew your own cover."

"I did _not_!"

"Didn't you? Then who squeaked?"

"Squeaked?! I did no such thing!"

"The heir to the Malfoy fortune is too dignified to squeak?"

"I am pleased to inform you that I have never squeaked in my life, thank you very much. But don't let me keep you. The love of your life is waiting for you."

"He can wait a little while longer. And he's not the love of my life."

"Then who is?"

"If I told you, you'd meddle, so you'll just have to wonder."

"I see right through you, you know."

"I'm sorry. Is the wallpaper a pretty color?"

"It is, in fact, but I was referring to your lies."

"Lies? What lies are you speaking of?"

"Unless you have suddenly developed a passion for one of the gnomes in the garden…"

"There _are_ no gnomes in the garden," Blaise pointed out acidly.

"Then all the more reason it's unlikely to occur. As I was saying, unless you've suddenly fallen madly in love with a piece of furniture, I don't see anyone else who could have captured your affections. Therefore, it is indeed Weasley, and, as he has just confessed his undying love to you, I fail to see why you are standing out here in this hallway with _me_."

"You're prettier than he is."

"You flatter me. Start talking like that, and your boyfriend will think that you love me more than you love him."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Isn't he? Then what is he?"

"I'm sure I don't know, nor will you speculate as to the proper noun, thank you very much."

Draco sighed in overdone regret. "Such a pity. But what do you _really_ want?"

"You are implying that I seek more than your company after a long separation?"

"I see through you, remember? The wallpaper has a stain on it."

"Does it indeed?"

"It does. Not to mention the fact that you refuse to look me in the eye."

Blaise met Draco's eyes.

"Cheating. Now, is there a _reason_ you're avoiding the subject of your darling Weasel?"

"Quite apart from the fact that you are going to get hexed in a moment and I am going to laugh as I do so, there is."

"I can hardly wait to hear what it is. Incidentally, don't think you can beat me. I'm faster than you are."

"Are you indeed?"

"I am."

"My aim is better than yours."

"Are you willing to put that to a test?"

"I am indeed."

"Lovely. That will be our amusement later. Now, you were going to tell me the reason I am keeping you from your dearly beloved?"

"I was. You owe me a debt, and you're going to pay it now."

"I owe you a debt? For what?"

"For ferreting, if you'll pardon my choice of words, your mother away so that you could tell your father the truth about your own dearly beloved."

"I haven't paid that already?"

"You have not. But you're going to now."

Draco grimaced slightly. "What is it?"

"Nothing too dramatic, I assure you. Merely this: you are never, _ever_, in any way, shape or form, to say anything even hinting at the words, 'I told you so.'"


	16. In which good things must come to an end

_Author's note: so we were wrong. this is the last chapter after all. sorry people. but we hope you liked it! let us know what you thought of the entire story, spread the word, tell people who've read it not to bother putting it on alert... whatever you want. thanks!  
Disclaimer: look people. three very simple words prove that we are _not_ JK Rowling: slash is king. do you think she'd agree with that statement? her books lead one to suspect not. -sigh- if only...  
--_kyra_, tamara_, and **caroline**

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16. In which good things must come to an end

To his credit, Draco kept to his condition. He never _ever_ spoke anything resembling those words, though he did appear to think them quite loudly. Blaise pretended not to notice. There was only so far Draco could go, after all.

Weasley, after the substance of Blaise's conversation with Draco had been explained, didn't seem to mind very much. True, his relationship with Draco hadn't improved much, but at least he didn't seem about to kill the other boy on a regular basis any longer. He stopped giving Potter puppy eyes as well, much to Blaise's relief.

Blaise and Weasley never finished their interrupted conversation, but they didn't need to. After all, what else was there to say? Both of them knew what the other had been wanting to say, so there was really no point in actually saying it. So they merely talked about other things, much as they had before, never mentioning the reason for their new closeness. Not even when they were in bed at night – a prospect somehow much more appealing now – they talked of innocent and generic topics. There were no declarations of passion, no displays of affection that Draco and Potter seemed to expect. Theirs was of a more subtle nature, so subtle that one who didn't know would have been hard pressed to see it.

And Blaise was happier than he'd ever been in his life. For the first time in his memory he didn't care what his mother thought, didn't care about public opinion, didn't care about anything but what _he_ wanted. And he had what he wanted. He had everything he'd ever wanted.

For once, Draco seemed to understand, rather than to mock. Blaise suspected that his blond friend had undergone a similar revelation, though the topic was never discussed between them. Something about being newly in love with someone who loved you back brought contentment in and of itself. Not to mention, of course, the fact that, now that Potter was back, there was someone in the house who actually knew how to cook. He hadn't realize how much that had been lacking until it was suddenly returned to them. He vowed never to insult cooks again, a vow he promptly broke at the welcome feats at Hogwarts, when the potatoes were undercooked _again_. Apparently House-Elves didn't know how to cook potatoes.

Draco didn't vanish again, and he didn't even seem upset about the little slip-ups they had about using magic, such as the time Weasley challenged Blaise to a paper-airplane making and flying contest, which he promptly lost. Blaise said that it was because that was how he habitually communicated with his mother, and there was no one who could discredit that.

And so they continued, whiling away the summer days. They spent much of their time outside, watching Potter and Draco race, and Potter and Weasley, and, eventually, Draco and Weasley, though Weasley had no hope in either of the two. His broom was far too outclassed, and the other two were just better flyers than he was. Draco urged Blaise to join in, but Blaise declined, stating his complete lack of talent in that area as excuse for not competing. He had his pride, and losing continuously was not something he enjoyed doing.

For the first time in his life, Blaise felt that he was truly free, truly able to act like himself and not worry about the press or his mother. Like with the cooking, it was only when the freedom had been returned that he realized how much he'd missed it. He promised himself that he wouldn't forget to have fun once he got back to school. He had more success with that one, though, around about exam time, he forgot and required prodding to come out of the library and into the sun.

But even the best things cannot last forever, and the end of August came around at last. They packed up their bags, visited Diagon Alley for their school things, and said goodbye to their summer retreat. Blaise couldn't help being sorry that they were leaving. Normally he enjoyed school, but now he actually had something to leave behind. It had been completely different from his usual summer, and now he wanted desperately for it to continue forever.

If Weasley felt the same way, he never mentioned it. Instead, he seemed determined to be cheerful about it all, talking animatedly about what they would do during the year, and the friends he would see when he got back to school. Blaise listened, trying not to feel jealous. It didn't work very well, and he found himself disliking Granger and Longbottom on more than just principle.

Weasley, being Weasley, didn't notice, and, if Draco did, then he was too busy taking leave of his own love to say anything. Blaise didn't blame him. If he and Weasley had that kind of relationship, he would spend most of his time snogging the redhead as well.

The dreaded day finally arrived, and they wheeled their carts through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Blaise paused slightly, looking at Weasley for what he thought of as the last time. Surely things would be different at school, and Blaise wanted to remember. At least he would have memories, if not reality.

Weasley, finally noticing Blaise's preoccupation, frowned. "What?" he demanded.

Blaise shook his head. "Nothing. Go on. Your friends are waiting for you. You wouldn't want to keep them waiting, would you Weasley?"

Weasley grimaced. Then, very deliberately, for the first time ever, he leaned over and kissed Blaise. It was a short kiss, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Pulling away, Weasley grinned. "I'll see you on the train. Oh, and by the way? It's Ron." Then he was gone, off to talk to his own friends, leaving Blaise standing on the platform, suddenly far less pessimistic about the upcoming year than he had been only moments before.


End file.
